


lay all your spells to bed (i'll choose unloved instead)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Baker Harry, Crush, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hipster Harry, Jealous Louis, Jealousy, Lots of Angst, M/M, anyway harry is 17 louis is 18, cheesiest thing ever, enjoy, harry likes nick, is that a tag, jealous louis is so real, kind of, louis isn't jealous he ISNT, theres so much fluff this is disgusting, this is basically a ton of cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>high school au; harry and louis have been best friends all through high school. harry's got a crush, and louis isn't jealous. he really, really isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay all your spells to bed (i'll choose unloved instead)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larrying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrying/gifts).



> this was fun 2 write thanks 
> 
> [here](http://8tracks.com/disclosures/unattainable) is an 8tracks playlist if you want to listen as you read
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> (title from unattainable by little joy)
> 
> **EDIT: hi! it's me! thank you for the hits and the comments and everything, love you all very much x  
> my tumblr is okhalo, i'd love to talk to you all about headcanons and write prompts and everything. please don't hesitate. xx

 

//

**february**

 

“styles!” louis shouts, stumbling into harry’s bedroom. harry’s still asleep, but that doesn’t stop louis from jumping onto that broad, lanky body of his and licking his nose.  he pretends not to notice he’s naked.

“lou,” harry grunts, and louis ignores the shiver his rough morning voice sends through his body. “quit it. let me sleep.”

“sleep? it’s your birthday, h. another year older, another year closer to dying.” louis teases. harry sits up against the headboard with a wail and sticks his tongue out at him. “thanks, louis. very comforting, you are.”

 he rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, and louis has to pinch the inside of his wrist to stop him from thinking too much of harry’s unruly curls and bare chest.

“anyway, um…,” he stammers, reaching for the brown bag that fell from the bed onto the lush carpet. “i got you a gift.” harry’s eyes widen in surprise, and he takes the bag from louis hesitantly. “louis tomlinson, actually spent _money_ on _someone else_? this is it. it’s the apocalypse.” harry shouts dramatically, throwing his arms into the air.

“shut up and open it.” louis responds, flicking harry on the jaw. harry abides, reaching into the bag and pulling out three vinyl records. one was a limited-edition ray lamontagne album that louis had to bid one-fifty on ebay for, another was abbey road that his mum had in the basement from when his dad was still around, and the third was a vintage johnny cash covers album that he managed to rip from a bitchy thirty-year old hipster at the thrift shop. harry takes one look at them and almost bursts into tears, throwing himself at louis, wrapping his arms around his waist and practically lifting him above the white bedsheets.

“thank you, thank you, oh my god. you’re the best friend ever. i fucking _love you_ , oh my god.” harry sings, sprinting out of the bed and walking over to his record player and placing one of the dusty albums on the machine, turning it up to the loudest volume. come together bursts out of the speakers, and harry shakes his naked bum to the riff at the beginning, and louis is staring. an alarm goes off in his head. louis is staring, and he hadn’t even noticed 

“heyyy. stop staring.” harry blushes, tugging on a pair of white boxers. louis feels his face turn hot.

“can’t help it, love,” he attempts. “you’re just so hot. you’re the man of my dreams. oh, my poor heart. mr. styles, i do declare..” louis sighs dramatically, walking over to harry and batting his eyelashes. he drags a long finger down harry’s chest, and harry flushes, red suffusing down to his collarbone.

“uh...yeah. okay, hum.” harry stammers, pushing himself away from louis and making his way over to his closet. louis freezes in place, disheveled from harry’s sudden retraction, but he brushes it off and goes to sit on the bed again.

“so,” he says, trying to avoid staring at harry’s arse as he jerks on a pair of skin-tight black jeans. “do you want to do anything special after school today?”

“can't,” harry says, throwing on the green knit sweater louis got him for christmas two years ago. it makes louis smile, knowing that he’s kept it, even though it’s gotten much too small for him. harry attempts to tug it lower, but theres still a stripe of skin showing between the bottom of his sweater and the belt of his jeans, his v line prominent. “i have to work at the bakery.”

“are you kidding?,” louis interjects. “who the fuck works on their birthday? at least get drunk to make it more fun.”

“you’re ridiculous,” harry fonds, walking over to the mirror to tease his hair into a quiff. “you know bessie. she’s old. and cute. she wears flowers in her hair, i don’t think she’d appreciate me getting drunk.”

“i mean, who knows.” louis points out, getting up from his spot on the bed to wrap his arms around harry’s waist from behind. “she could have a mess of colourful tattoos from the 80s underneath all those ridiculous aprons. 

“heyyy. i happen to think that she’s lovely, aprons and flowers and all.” harry defends, making eye contact with louis in the mirror. louis hums in reply, reaching up to rest his chin on harry’s shoulder. he’s got to stand on his tip-toes to reach it, and it’s funny, because just a year ago, they were the same height.

it’s silly, because for all he’s grown in the past three years, harry’s still that clumsy, innocent boy louis became best friends with at 16. his sister, gemma, is in louis’ year at school, but louis has always known harry better. when louis met harry, he was all bright eyes and flushed cheeks and scrawny limbs. now, almost a year and a half later, his sweaters practically go to louis’ knees after the massive growth spurt he encountered over the summer. his voice is low and husky and slow now, and his hair has gotten less curly and a lot longer, nipping at the nape of his neck. harry’s always been lovely, but the combination of his stunning features and his ample heart gives him a sort of beauty that makes louis appreciate him so much more. it’s not all that than how he’d see his mum or his sisters, but he still feels like it’s the sort of thing one should keep to  themselves.

“lou,” harry bursts, interrupting louis’ trance. “do you think i need more hairspray? i feel like it’s not...tousled enough.” he makes a face of disapproval in the mirror, toying the loose strands of his quiff.

“it looks fine.”

“or maybe my jeans? my jeans are too loose, aren’t they? oh god, i think my arse jeans are in the wash.. _mum!_ -”

“it. looks. fine. why are you so paranoid about this? it’s not like you have anyone to impress. except for me, of course,” louis winks, gripping harry's shoulders. “and in that case, i do think you need a little more...” he trails, finishing his sentence by giving harry a slap on the bum. harry yelps, biting his lip and grimacing.

“fuck off. let’s go.” harry says, his skin turning pink. he throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, shoves on his decayed (“they’re _vintage.”_ ) brown ankle boots, and sprints down the stairs.

//

the drive to school consists of louis blasting 2 chainz’s _birthday song_ at full volume, windows down.  

“seventeen, everyone! harry styles is seventeen today! show the love, doncaster!” he shouts, honking the horn at every pedestrian that they pass.

as if louis and harry’s morning drives aren’t strange enough. 

they stop by the bakery on their way to school, and there’s a boy behind the counter when they walk in. louis can see harry tense up beside him 

“harry! how are you, love? happy birthday!” the boy comes over, giving harry an intimate hug and a kiss on the cheek. seems a little too intimate to louis, but that’s not for him to decide.

harry laughs and squirms out of the boy’s grasp.

“i’m-i’m good. yeah. thanks, nick.” he smiles. 

“o’course, darling. here,” nick says, reaching out behind him to grab a little gift bag, covered in little kittens. “i made you a little something.”

harry blushes. louis wants to vomit.

“go on.” nick urges, grinning stupidly. stupid white teeth, stupid pink lips, stupid stubble, stupid quiff. stupid nick.

harry beams, eyes all aglow, reaches in the bag and pulls out a mix cd. 

"holy shit," he laughs, reading off the back. 

"just some songs i thought you'd like. nothing special." nick says, nonchalant. 

"you kidding?" harry grins. "this is so nice. thank you!" he walks over and hugs nick, who embraces him tightly. they stay there for a moment too long, and louis clears his throat. they break apart and turn to look at him. 

"oh, and this," harry says, walking over and snaking his arm around louis' waist. "is louis." louis leans into the touch, and its comforting. 

nick waves awkwardly, then shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

 “so how long have you two been together?” he asks.

harry almost chokes laughing. it shouldn’t bother louis as much as it does.

“oh, oh my god,” he sputters, yanking himself away from louis. “we aren’t-me and louis? no, no. pfft. that's-he’s just-we’re friends.”

“best friends,” louis snaps, harsher than he intended. “come on, harry. we have to get to school.” he tugs harry’s arm towards the door.

"right. sorry. bye nick, thanks for the gift." harry throws over his shoulder, pushing the door open and leading them both into the car. 

"so," louis says after they both put on their seatbelts. "nick seems...nice."

"yeah, he is."

“do you..do you like him?"

louis can see harry’s shoulders fall in the corner of his eye, his back leaning behind him and settling into his seat.

“dunno,” he sighs. "maybe." 

//

 harry has a good birthday.

 liam bakes him a banana cake with cream cheese frosting, and louis gets the entire cafeteria to sing him ‘happy birthday’ at lunch. harry just sits there, grinning like a loon, cream cheese frosting slathered on the tip of his nose.

because louis is a year older than harry, they don’t have any classes together. so, the only time louis sees him is before and after school. he sees him in the hallways sometimes, but he’s usually surrounded by girls in short skirts, smacking their lip gloss and twirling strands of hair around their fingers. it makes louis sick, because they know he’s gay, yet they still try their hardest to get a fuck from him. it’s awful, because he deserves better. he deserves someone who loves him for the lovely, charming, kind boy he is.  

today, there are more girls than usual. they’re all waiting for him outside his physics classroom, whispering and laughing quietly. louis is standing there as well, like he always does, waiting to pick up harry and drive him home. the class is filing out slowly, and harry is bombarded with seductive “happy birthday, harry”s and tender touches on the arm. harry doesn’t look amused, but he smiles anyway and takes some instagram pictures with them in front of the lockers. louis grits his teeth. this is pissing him off.

“you okay, mate?” zayn asks, coming up to him and slapping him on the back. “you look like you just ate a raw lemon.”

“yeah. of course. why wouldn’t i be?” louis throws out casually. zayn gives him an amused look, raising an eyebrow.

“well, you look proper ready to punch one of those girls right now. what’s going on?” he throws an arm over both of louis’ shoulders and turns him around so they’re facing away from harry.

“i dunno. it’s kind of rude to attack someone like that after every single class. there’s like ten girls there. proper celebrity he is. mr. perfect.” louis scowls.

“you know,” zayn starts. he closes his mouth and faces away, cutting himself off. “nah. never mind.”

“what? what is it?” louis says, shrugging zayn’s arm off of his shoulders and looking at him with wide eyes. “okay, well. now i’m curious. you can’t just do that and not tell me what you’re thinking. 

“no, like.” zayn snickers, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i just don’t know why you haven’t told him yet.”

“tell him...what?”

“you know.” zayn replies, expecting louis to respond.

“i really don’t.”

“tell him that you’re in love with him.”

louis jaw falls open. “what? no. _no, no, no_. harry and i are best mates. i don’t know why you would-no. i’m not even-i don’t like-yeah. no. i’m definitely not in love with him. besides. he has his eye set on this dickhead he works with at the bakery.”

“is he really a dickhead, or do you just automatically hate him because he’s taking all harry’s attention away from you?” zayn points out, raising his eyebrows knowingly after louis doesn’t say anything in reply. he’s about to open his mouth to speak, but harry comes up and loops his arm around louis’, locking their elbows 

“hi, lou. hey, zayn,” he greets cheerfully. zayn takes it as his cue to leave, winking at louis before turning and walking away with a smirk plastered on his face. 

“okay. that was weird. anyway, ready to go? sorry i took so long. you know, um. how they are.” harry laughs, leaning on louis’ shoulder. louis doesn’t find it that funny. 

they walk to harry’s locker in silence, and louis leans against the one next to his, observing him carefully. there’s a ton of wrapping paper on his door, little notes scribbled with heart-dotted ‘i’s and winky faces. disgusting. repulsive. absolutely unnecessary.

it’s not that theres anything wrong with wishing someone a happy birthday. it’s just..the way the message is brought across. none of these girls really know him. they just want to take pictures and flirt in hopes of having a cute date that they can brag to everyone about, and it pisses louis off. probably more than it should. it seems that these days they’re attacking harry more than usual, and it doesn’t look like he’s having it. 

“does it ever bother you?” louis blurts impulsively.

“hm?” harry responds, tucking a pencil between his teeth as he shoves a multitude of textbooks into his backpack.

“like, all the girls. does it get on your nerves?

“not really. they’re nice, most of them,”

louis sneers in reply. 

“okay, not all the time. but if it makes them happy, then it’s fine. you know? i don’t want to be that douche who pushes everyone away. i don’t want to have that reputation.” harry shuts his locker door and tosses his backpack over his shoulder, leaning on the locker and tilting his head so he’s facing louis.

“yeah,” louis exhales. “i guess i see what you mean.”

“great,” harry says softly. he gives louis an easy smile, green eyes lit and god, fuck those dimples. “ready to go, then?”

“always.” louis answers. they walk to the car, harry’s arm around louis’ shoulders and louis’ arm around harry’s waist. it feels natural. they don’t get looks anymore, either. it’s been three years, and all the teachers think they’re a couple. when louis asked harry if it bothered him, he gave an over-dramatic shake of the head and proceeded to cuddle louis on the couch they were lying on. so. that’s it, then.

the car ride to the bakery is like it always is, filled with petty banter and corny jokes. but today, harry has nick’s mixtape playing in the stereo, and there’s an undeniable tension between them.

“so,” louis blurts out, attempting to distract himself from the disgustingly sappy, banjo-filled tune bursting around him. “did you have a good birthday, h?”

“yeah.” harry replies, sighing with lust. he’s looking out the window, head rested upon the foggy glass. “it was nice.”

louis is about to reply when the opening chords of sweet disposition floods through the speakers.

it’s angering. it fires louis up, because that’s their song. that’s harry and louis’ song. it has been for three years, since they went to leeds festival after they first met and saw the band sing it for the first time. they’d danced their asses off to that song, swinging each other around and collapsing onto the ground afterwards, covering themselves in mud and grime and cigarette ashes. louis realised then, that they were going to be something special, and harry had felt the same way. it was one of those moments that you want to lock in a safe and let nobody else in. but now, it felt like nick had taken a sledgehammer, swung it over those ridiculously broad shoulders of his, and slammed it into that safe, over and over again until it had opened.

“that’s...that’s our song.” louis breathes out quietly, gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles whiten.

“what?” harry questions, reaching out to turn the volume dial on the radio. louis waits until they get to a stoplight before speaking again.

“this..this is our song. you-yeah.” he stutters, refusing to make eye contact with harry. it shouldn't be a problem. it really shouldn't, but it is, and it makes louis want to burst.

“oh.” harry replies, disappointment in his voice. louis grips the wheel tighter, if that’s even possible. he’s fairly sure that there’s already a dent in it already. “did you...did you want me to change it?”

louis nods stiffly. harry taps the stereo and it changes into a slow one. tom odell, probably. harry likes tom odell.

the rest of the car ride is silent.

//

see, louis is not a jealous person.

he’s had a few girlfriends in his life. most of which continued to speak to other guys. it didn’t affect louis in the slightest, he ended up breaking up with them after a week or two anyway. he stopped dating at 17, because he realised that he wasn’t capable of loving someone with that much of his being. he wasn’t even attracted to anyone anymore. like, he got off to david beckham. that’s normal, right?

harry’s different. harry’s had one girlfriend, shortly after he and louis met three years ago. she was pretty, a skinny, blonde, straight a student. harry thought she was the one after a week. he was only fourteen, anyway. young and naive. louis tried to convince him that he needed to take a breather and think, but harry refused to listen. a week later, he came to louis’ in tears, telling him that he liked boys. and that was that. things weren’t awkward. in fact, they were quite the opposite. they cuddled more, kissed each other’s faces more, held hands, walked around each other in public. it was the best feeling, and louis felt loved. he felt truly, truly, loved.it was like it was supposed to be – harry and louis, louis and harry. they were a part of each other. they knew each and every crevice of each other’s minds, every pore of each other’s body, every trigger, every emotion, every thought. they owned each other, almost orbited around each other, a planet and its moon.

but of course, nothing good lasts forever.

that’s probably why he’s sitting in the back of the bakery, picking at the apricot taste sitting in front of him. nick made it, but louis knows that harry always makes it best. he hears hooting from the kitchen, and it makes him cringe. harry would always bring louis back to the kitchen when he came to the bakery, and since louis is absolute shit at cooking, he would just sit on the counter and watch as harry worked his magic. sometimes, they’d have food fights, throwing handfuls of dough and sugar and flour at each other until they were covered in white, lying on the floor on top of each other as old bessie scolded them.

in merely a week, louis had gone from being a not-so-helpful but good-company kitchen aid to a lonely stranger sitting in the back of the bakery, eating a taste that was made by fingers that were probably up harry’s ass an hour ago.

bessie notices him after a bit, calling out to him in a sympathetic voice. bessie was a kind old woman, always wearing flowers in her silver hair and hopping around with an energetic aroma, despite running the bakery for over 50 years now. her youthful eyes dimmed with worry as she approached louis, sliding into the dainty chair across from him.

“hon, you look like someone died. are you alright?” she says, reaching out to place her warm, shaky hand over louis’.

“m’fine, bess.”

“no, you aren’t. this isn’t the louis i know. so either you’re ill,” she says, reaching out to feel louis’ forehead. “or i sense a bit of rejection in your heart, yeah?”

“no.” louis responds, placing his unused fork on the pink napkin next to his plate. bessie gives him a questioning look. “okay, maybe? i don’t know.” he admits, finally, laying his head on the table and burying it in his arms. he despises old people sometimes.

“listen, love. harry’s a good boy. you two have something special.” she says, rubbing louis’ forearm. “it’s not going to fade away. this is just a silly crush of his. don’t stress too much about it.”

louis groans.

“okay, how ‘bout we make some tea, and then i make you some of those cream puffs that you like, hm?”

louis makes a muffled noise of assent, still keeping his head in his arms. bessie gets up and walks away, the taps of her padded shoes echoing across the empty bakery. laughter comes from the kitchen, and louis has to stick his finger in his ears to keep from screaming. there’s an empty feeling in his chest, but bessie manages to fill it with handfuls of cream puffs and cups of tea.

“i don’t need him. i don’t,” louis says, his mouth full of sweets. “i don’t give a shit if he wants to make out with some dickhead. it’s...it’s not my place, you know? not my...not my place. whatever makes him happy. whatever...whatever. whatever."

bessie laughs and shakes her head, her eyes crinkling up into a smile. “louis, darling. you’re too dramatic. let it go for a little, yeah? this won’t last forever.”

“yeah,” louis mumbles, shoving another cream puff into his mouth. “i guess you’re right.”

harry walks in at that moment, his face covered in streaks of flour and there’s a slab of icing on his nose. louis may or may not want to lick it off.

nick follows, also covered in flour. he doesn’t look nearly as cute as harry does. in fact, louis would like to give him a kick in the ribs.  

“ready to go, lou? my shift is over.” harry smiles genuinely, and he’s got blue icing on his teeth.

“doesn’t seem like you were working now, were you?” louis grunts, standing up from his chair. he’s been sitting in it for four hours, and he can’t help but stretch himself out, raising his arms above his head and making some sort of indescribable noise in the process. his sweater rides up his midriff, cool air blowing onto his stomach. for a moment, he thinks he sees harry staring, but he throws that thought away and whips his keys out of his pocket, jingling them in front of harry’s face.

“uh, yeah. okay. bye bess, bye nick! see you monday!” harry sings, sending a smile nick’s way. bessie walks over and whispers something to him, but louis is already out the door before he can hear it.

//

“so, tell me more about him.” louis attempts. harry is leaning on the window, and there’s flour smeared on the glass.

“nick?”

“yeah. i wanna know why you like him so much.” 

“okay, well,” harry starts, and he sits up, eyes brightening and his lips curving into a fond smile. “nick’s 19. he got held back a year but he’s at our school, and he’s in your year. he came in mid-year, because his parents moved from london, isn’t that cool?”  

“yeah.” louis aims bluntly. he’s trying. he really is. but there’s still this sinking feeling in his chest, and he still can’t put a reason together.

“nick likes indie music, like me. he’s been to loads of concerts, because he used to work at a venue. his favourite colour is green, and the other day he said my eyes are pretty. but his eyes are even prettier, they’re like this ocean blue that you just want to swim in for the rest of your life. they’re my favourite. so i told him. and he gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek, can you believe?”

“that’s great, haz.” he shoves out, his chest aching. harry used to say that louis’ eyes were his favourite.

“and nick’s applying to host a talk show at uni next year. he’s gonna get to interview all sorts of people. i’m sure he’s gonna be great at it, he’s so funny. probably the funniest person i’ve met.”

 _you said i was the funniest person you’ve met,_ louis wants to say. he doesn’t.

“he’s really cool, lou. he makes really great pastries and his laugh is probably the best thing you’ll ever hear in your life. it’s like...a rainbow. or something.”

oh, shit. he’s got to be kidding.

louis turns his head slightly so that he can see harry out of the corner of his eye, ready to toss some sort of mocking insult at him, but he almost slams the breaks when he comes into view.

harry’s _glowing._

like, really, really glowing.

his eyes are glassed over, his face is bright and youthful, the rays of the winter sun highlighting his face. his lips are crinkled into a soft smile, the crease of his dimple dancing along his cheeks. the setting sun creates a silhouette outline around his figure, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. he just..he looks beautiful, really. louis won’t deny that.

that brings him back to reality. he’s sitting in a car with his best friend as he rambles on about how much he loves someone. someone else. not louis.

thankfully, they arrive into harry’s driveway quickly. harry stops talking when he realises, throwing his head back in a laugh.

“oh, i didn’t realise i’ve been talking for this long. wow. okay. anyway, thanks for the ride, lou.” harry says, reaching over to open the car door and step out.

“wait,” louis says quickly, fumbling to undo his seatbelt. “i’ll walk you to your door.”

“you don’t have to do that.”

“i want to.”

harry hesitates before beaming at louis, tucking his face into his arm in a blush. “okay.”

they walk to harry’s door in silence. it’s a short walk, but louis makes a point to wrap an arm around harry’s torso and clutch it tightly. too tightly, probably, in fear of letting him slip away.

“thanks for today, lou. best 17th birthday i’ve ever had.” harry says, sincerity in his voice. louis can’t help but punch him in the arm.

“twat,” he teases, failing to hold back the ridiculous grin that’s creeping up on his lips. “bring it in, love.”

harry falls into louis’ arms, wrapping his arms around his neck in an embrace. harry gives the most wonderful hugs. warm, welcoming. familiar.

“love you.” harry mutters into his ear, and louis can’t help it. he really can’t.

he pulls back from the embrace and pecks harry’s cheek, light and delicate, but he hopes it shows his affection enough. harry immediately flushes a deep red, and it’s normal. perfectly normal.

they stare at each other a bit, green eyes on blue, until harry looks down at his feet, turning them inwards and swaying back and forth. “anyway. i should, um. go. thanks again, lou.”

and he’s gone, disappearing into the house, lightly shutting the door behind him.

it becomes a thing.

every day, louis drops off harry at his door, walks up with him, and pecks his cheek as they part. some days are longer salutes, making harry redder than usual. other days are playful little smacks, overplayed and silly. but each day has the same amount of affection behind it, and harry always returns the gesture with a reddened face and a muttered goodbye, tucking his smile into his shoulder. louis makes nothing of it.

//

**march**

by spring, things begin to change.

louis has started to drag zayn to the bakery after school during the week, to attempt to fill the harry-shaped hole in his heart. it doesn’t work too well.

“this tarte is shit.” zayn says, stabbing it with his fork.

“i know. nick made it.” louis replies, sneering. he continues to pick at the chocolate croissant in front of him. harry made it after tons of begging from louis, but somehow it doesn’t seem appetizing anymore.

“y’know, louis.” zayn bursts, flicking his fork so that it clinks loudly against the glass of the plate sitting in front of him. he sits back, crossing his arms, and louis knows what he’s going to say before he utters a word. “i think you should talk to harry. tell him how you feel. i hate seeing you like this.”

louis makes a face and huffs out a weird laugh. “i don’t see the need to do that. he’s my best friend, he likes a boy. everything is fine. just dandy.”

“you’re jealous."

“i am not. what a proposterous assumption.”

“yes. you are. harry’s giving his attention to someone else, and that person isn’t you. and you miss his attention. you wish it was yours again. am i right?”

“okay,” louis admits after a moment. “that doesn’t mean i’m jealous.”

“that’s literally the exact definition of jealousy.”

“fuck off.” louis spits at him. it comes out bitter and bleak.

zayn looks utterly offended, and louis drops his head and fiddles with his thumbs in his lap.

 _“well,_ ” zayn grunts, standing up. he slips his coat off of his chair and slips it on, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i’m leaving, then. bye, louis.”

he gives louis a tight expression before leaving the bakery, the door closing swiftly behind him.

louis lays his arm on the table, and lays his head down, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. he doesn’t get up for a long time.

 

//

 

“hey,” harry says softly into louis’ ear, rubbing the back of his neck with a warm hand. louis can hear him fine, but somehow the voice isn’t as comforting as it used to be. “louis, get up. it’s time to go, my shift is over. 

louis squints and hoists his head up, immediately sitting back to lean it on the back of his chair. he blinks his eyes open, and he’s not surprised to see nick standing over him, a very annoyed look on his face.

louis gives him a wink, just because.

“shall we then, harold?” he says, standing up and holding his arm out to harry. harry doesn’t take it. louis draws it back slowly, letting it fall back down to his side.

“yeah. let’s go. bye, nick.” harry croons, stopping to turn and send a sparkling smile nick’s way. louis is about to physically shove harry out the door before nick reaches out and grabs harry, who turns pink in excitement.

“so, um. harry?” nick says, and harry looks up at him with wide eyes. “i was wondering, uh-there’s a-you know. the...the prom. at school. it’s coming up, yeah?”

“yeah.” harry sighs out. louis gags audibly, but neither boy responds.

“did you-did you want to go? with me?” nick asks, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

oh, _hell._

“hey, hey, hey.” louis interjects. harry gives him a look, but louis proceeds to speak anyhow, keeping his tone grim. “i’m sorry, grimshaw, but harry and i were going to go together. so i suggest that you get the fuck out of here before i kick your-”

“ahem,” harry coughs, ominous. “nick, i would love to go with you. really.”

“harry.” louis starts. harry doesn’t respond.

“great. wow. great. fantastic. okay. i’ll um...i’ll text you?” nick says, and harry nods, his eyes still glassy and wide. fucking hell.

“oh, great. you two make a _lovely_ couple.” louis scowls. “lets go, harry.” he grabs harry’s arm and tugs him out the door quicky, ignoring the looks bessie gives him from behind the counter.

they get in the car, and harry keeps his head down the whole time, but louis doesn’t soften his tone.

“we’ve been planning this for months, harry. _months_. we were gonna go to dinner with zayn and liam, remember that? and we decided on matching tuxes and you smacked me in the balls when we were trying them on. don’t you remember? fuck. _fuck_ , haz.”

harry keeps his gaze out the window and doesn’t speak until they arrive at his door.

the moment they slide into the driveway, harry throws off his seatbelt, thrusts the door open, and runs up the steps, holding a hand over his mouth. louis can hear a faint sob before his front door slams closed.

 //

 

louis and harry haven't talked in days.   

the thing is, louis knows it’s not his fault. they've been planning prom for _months_ , and louis was really really looking forward to it. harry had no right to storm in and rip that away from him. 

but then again, harry had  _every_ right to. 

louis' always been so, so selfish with harry's attention. their friendship had always been so simple. right from the start, louis knew they’d be something special. he’s never felt more comfortable and loved than he did when he was with harry. it was so natural when they were together. he didn't even have to try to act “funny” or “cool” because harry would always find him the coolest and funniest person in any situation. it was inevitable. people were jealous of their friendship, and louis took pride in that. so much pride, it became a necessity, harry’s friendship. he needs it. harry’s his rock, his anchor, and without him he feels like he’s floating off into a distant sea, farther and farther from the shore.

louis’ been a shit friend.

maybe he is jealous. maybe he does hate nick with all of his being. but it makes harry happy. if he really loves harry, he should be happy for him. and he does love him. he loves him more than anything. harry wants this, he’s been wanting this for months, and louis can’t ruin for him.

he feels sick. he feels like crying, his chest is aching, and god, he’s an idiot.

it’s three in the morning on a friday when harry calls.

louis’ awake, of course, his thoughts keeping him up late and melting under his eyes in purple streaks. the sudden burst of “god only knows” from his phone startles him, making him sit up suddenly and grab it without a second thought.

“louis?” harry’s groggy voice flows through the speaker. his voice is watered down, like he’s been crying. “i can’t believe you answered. okay. um, don’t talk. i just need to get this out. so, i’m sorry about what happened? i shouldn’t have run off like that. i feel like we should talk about this. are you free tomorrow? at like..noon? i could bring some food and we could sit in the park. by that big tree? like old times, y’know?”

there’s a pause, and louis can hear a series of sniffles in the silence.

“so, um. yeah. just..let me know. nick won’t be there, if that’s what you want to know. sorry for waking you up.”

harry hangs up. louis flops over, buries his head into the pillow, and screams. he lies there for a moment before grabbing his phone and typing out an answer, shaky fingers trembling against the keys.

_yeh ill be there. see you tomorrow :-)_

he reads over it for a moment before tapping send. it’s read right away.

he turns his phone off and places it on his nightstand, flipping on his back to stare at the ceiling. after a few moments, he gives in and grabs his phone again, flipping it open to type in another message.

_im sorry that im a twat. you dont deserve to be treated like this. i’ m a shit friend_

harry replies in seconds.

_you’re not a shit friend_

_you’re not a twat either_

_please don’t think that. you’re my best._

_i love you lots_

louis’ heart thumps at the last message, and he reads it over and over before sending his answer.

_i love you too_

_lots_

harry sends a smiley face. and another. louis chuckles.

 _see you tomorrow_ , he sends.

 _can’t wait_ , harry responds.

 _go to sleep, nerd_ louis sends, and he hopes harry won’t take it the wrong way.

 _i’m proud of my nerdiness. goodnight. xxx_ , he receives in return.

he’s about to switch off his phone when another message comes through.

by the way, if you think that i’ll ever prefer you over nick, you’re wrong. you’ll always be my favourite lou.

louis sends a heart emoji before turning off his phone and falling asleep, a smile plastered on his face.

//

louis arrives at the park at quarter to noon the next day. the weather is perfect, the mid-march breeze fluttering through his hair and tickling his skin. it’s warm, the sun bursting through the clouds and the sky a perfect azure. the big oak tree is as big and beautiful as ever, flowers budding through the branches, welcoming the new season. harry and louis would come here all the time in the early stages of their friendship, laying out blankets in the summer and listening to the radio, spilling out their deepest secrets. it faded after a while. louis got his license, he met zayn and harry met a silly irish boy named niall, and they kind of grew apart. they stopped clinging to each other so much. louis didn’t mind it, really, but sitting under the shade of the leaves and pressing his back to the tough bark of the stump makes him want it all again.

it takes a few minutes for harry to appear, striding over to louis with one of his ridiculous fedoras perched atop of his curls, wearing a blue flannel shoved up to his elbows and a pair of skinny blue jeans that are way too tight. he’s got a basket in one hand and a radio in another, and louis can’t help but break out in a wide grin at the sight. he pushes his hair from his face and takes a deep breath, standing up to pull harry into his arms and keeps him close. harry’s arms find his waist and press their bodies together, and louis stands and just breathes, hoping that his embrace will do all the talking for him.

after they pull apart, louis sits down, grabbing harry’s wrist and pulling gently. harry sits down, too.

“are we gonna talk about it?” louis asks after a minute.

“i mean, i was hoping to,” harry responds gently, opening the lid of the basket and peeling out a yellow blanket. “but i think we should just..chill for a bit. y’know?”

“yeah,” louis says, helping harry to spread out the blanket on the grass. “i get it. come lay with me.”

harry crawls over and lays on the blanket next to louis, and his presence is enough to make louis feel fuzzy. harry’s on his back, staring at the sky, and louis can see the reflection of the clouds in his eyes.

“lou,” harry says, extending an arm to point at the sky. “that cloud looks like a bicycle. look.”

“it does.” louis says, keeping his eyes on harry.

“you’re not even looking at it!” harry laughs, turning to face louis. louis pokes him in the side. they stare at each other for a moment or six, and louis cant help but jerk his face forward to press a quick kiss to harry’s cheek.

“what was that for?” harry says, eyes gleaming.

“i just wanted to.” louis replies simply.

it’s a good day, all in all. harry baked muffins and made louis’ favourite peanut butter and cream sandwiches, (“with extra cream?” louis had asked. harry nodded. louis gave him another kiss on the cheek.) and he even brought blueberries to toss into louis’ mouth.

six failed blueberries in, louis gives up and falls on top of harry, throwing his leg over his torso and tucking his head into his neck, like he always does. harry reaches out and rubs louis' shoulder, and louis hums delightedly in response.

“so, um.” louis says, and harry mumbles something at the same time. they laugh awkwardly, and it’s weird. it's so, so weird.  

“should we have that talk now?” harry says. louis nods, leaning back to lay down on the blanket, the stiff ground providing an uncomfortable cushion. he’s ninety percent sure he lies down on a blueberry. oh, well.

“so, nick asked me to the prom,” harry exclaims after a moment. he’s sitting up, and it’s strange, so louis gestures for him to lie down as well. harry takes his hat off, tosses it beside him and snuggles into louis’ side, placing his head on louis’ chest, his soft curls tickling his collarbones. “i kind of really want to go. with him. i know that we were supposed to go together, but..i really like him, lou. i really, really do.”

louis ruffles his hair, despite the tightness in his chest. “i know. and like, i’m such a shit. i’m sorry. you like him, and i shouldn’t have been a dick about it all. go with him. i’ll stay home.”

harry sits up, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “oh, no. you can’t stay home, lou. what about that girl in your maths class? eleanor? she’s pretty. or that other girl that you sit next to in english. june? junie? ju-”

“nah,” louis says. “i don’t like-no. i’ll just watch films and drink mum’s wine.”

“you can come with us, even? it’ll be-”

“fuck, no,” louis laughs, sitting up. “i don’t know about you, but i’d much rather drink my weight in alcohol than be my best friend’s third wheel. i was already dragged to the cinema with zayn and liam last week anyway. they were sucking face the entire time. just-no. go have fun. i can even come over beforehand to help you get ready. i’m not gonna let you dress yourself.”

“heyyyyy,” harry pouts. “really, though. are you sure you’re okay with me going with him?”

“of course, love. it’s not my first choice, but you know. you’re my best. i just want what makes you happy.”

harry lights up and practically pounces on louis, knocking him backwards and into the ground. he wraps his arms around louis’ waist, chanting “thank you”s into his ear. louis ignores the itch in his heart and focuses on the boy in his arms. he’s happy. louis’ happy. all is well.

harry gives louis a kiss on the cheek. it’s all he could’ve asked for, really.

 //

 

**april**  

prom is april 14. louis has a countdown going in his mind, the thought becoming more and more painful as the date draws closer.

it comes quicker than he hoped it to.

louis arrives and a freshly bathed harry opens the door within seconds of the doorbell ringing, wet curls soaking through his shirt. louis gives him a tight hug, the familiar scent of apple shampoo and fresh cotton stirring warmth into his chest.

they head upstairs, and louis throws himself onto harry’s bed comfortably. “so, styles. show me what you got.”

harry laughs, making his way towards the closet. theres three bags of tuxes sitting off to the side, but harry reaches for a silver bag sitting on one of the shelves. “i will. but, uh. i got you something.” he says, handing louis the bag, keeping his head down.

“what?” louis exhales. “harry. you really didn’t-”

“no,” harry responds, looking up at louis and gesturing for him to open the bag. “you’ve..you’ve been a really good best friend, and i just..yeah. open it.”

louis stares up at him for a moment in shock, because louis hasn’t been a good best friend. he’s been quite a shit one, really. but harry gestures for him to open it, waving his hand around impatiently.

louis reaches in the bag, and his hand comes to contact with something very, very soft.

he pulls out a white cashmere sweater. it’s big, identical to the one harry has that he loves to steal.

“i, uh, i know how much you like mine. so i got you one as well. it’s the same size, but i had mum sew an L into the tag so you can tell the difference.” harry’s fiddling with his thumbs, staring down at the floor. louis checks the tag, and sure enough, theres a blue anchor stitched into the fabric.

louis is so overwhelmed.

he yanks harry by the wrist, tugging him onto the bed. louis gives him twelve kisses on each cheek before wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing tightly.

“louis,” harry gasps. “louis, i can’t _breathe_.”

louis lets go and sits up, an obnoxious grin on his face. “sorry, love. thank you, though. really. you didn’t have to.”

“yes, i did.” harry says, hopping off of the bed.

“no, you didn’t,” louis responds. harry opens his mouth to protest, but louis stops him with a palm to his face. “shut up. i’m gonna put it on now.”  

he peels off his red scoopneck and tosses it aside. harry’s staring. louis gives him a smirk before slipping on the sweater, and harry flushes red before turning to his closet and taking out the tux bags. the sweater’s a perfect fit, the neckline falling just below louis’ collarbone and the bottom reaching the middle of his thigh. he bathes in it for a moment, taking in the scent of fresh cashmere and laundry detergent. he looks up and notices that harry’s disappeared into the bathroom, one less suit bag hanging on the chair.

harry walks out a few minutes later in a ruffled button down and a light blue jacket. his pants are red. why.

“no.” louis says promptly. “absolutely not.”

harry looks like a sad puppy. “it was my dad’s wedding sui-”

“you’re kidding. styles, i refuse to let you kiss your hipster lover in that. back to the bathroom, h.”

“but-”

“go.” louis says, shoving harry through the door. he laughs as harry gives him an offended glare, slamming the door dramatically.

louis goes to sit on the bed, but a picture on harry’s bulletin board distracts him. as he gets closer, he finds that it’s a picture of him. a polaroid. harry took it at niall’s sixteenth birthday a year back, he remembers. louis’ smiling in the photo, eyes crinkled at the sides. he’s got a glittery crown on his head, one that harry made him wear as the photo was taken. underneath the photo, in scrawny handwriting, is “♥︎ prince lou ♥︎ 23.10.13 ♥︎”  he toys with his lip and smiles at the memory, only to be interrupted by a quiet cough behind him.

he turns, and his jaw almost drops open.

harry’s standing there, in all of his pigeon-toed glory. he’s got on a black and white speckled shirt, buttoned to his neckline. a velvet blazer tops it, snug  around his arms. louis doesn’t even dare to look down at his pants, and instead looks up at his face. his hair is pushed back in a quiff, and he’s smiling that smile, the one that louis loves, and he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful that it hurts him inside

“lou?” he asks. “why are you looking at me like that?”

shit.

“no reason. you just-you look good. he’s gonna love you.” louis stumbles out, keeping his eyes on harry. harry shuffles over and burrows himself in louis’ neck, giggling wildly.

the doorbell rings, and louis’ stomach drops 

“he’s here. oh my god, he’s here. fuck.” harry panics, breaking away from louis and pacing around his room. “lou, he’s here. what if i’m wearing the wrong suit? what if we don’t match? oh god. what if he didn’t get me a corsage? i got him a corsage. god. i’m an idiot. why didn’t i ask him? god. god.” harry’s proper freaking now, throwing his arms in the air and clutching the sides of his face. louis walks over and guides him to the mirror.

“look at yourself, styles.” he says, grasping harry’s shoulders. harry doesn’t look up.

“look at yourself, i said.” louis tries again, tone a bit harsher. harry’s eyes snap up, moving back and forth from his own to louis’.

“repeat after me,” louis tells him. “i am harry.”

“i...i am harry.” harry repeats, hesitant.

“and i’m _hot shit_.”

harry reddens.

“louis-” he starts. louis stops him with a finger in his ear, making him squeal. “okay, okay. i’m hot shit.” he says, quiet.

“louder." 

“i’m harry and i’m hot shit.” harry grins. louis smiles at him in the mirror and pats his shoulders.

“go get ‘em, tiger.”

harry beams, giving louis’ hand a tight squeeze before hopping out the door and down the stairs. louis follows, stopping at the banister and leaning over to look at the atrium.

nick’s there. he’s in a dumb suit, with his dumb hair in a dumb quiff and his dumb teeth blinding everyone and his dumb eyes sparkling and his dumb voice saying “you look beautiful, harry” in a dumb tone as he takes a dumb green corsage and slips it over harry’s wrist.

“i picked it out to match your eyes.” nick says.

louis wants to die.

he comes down the stairs as nick hands harry a rose, pulling his new sweater over his hands. nick turns and spots him, his smile falling to a tight crease of the lips, and he tightens his grip on harry’s waist. louis has never felt more uncomfortable. 

 

he grabs his keys and shoves his feet into his shoes. “i’m leaving. have fun at the dance, harry.” he says, trying his best to be sincere. frankly, it comes out angrier than intended.

//

 four hours later, louis is sitting in his room, drinking one of his mum’s wines and watching the notebook. not the best idea, but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care about anything, really. fuck everything. fuck nick and his stupid hair, fuck the school and their cheesy-ass dances. fuck harry styles, with his stupid dimples and his dumb green eyes and his disgusting curls. fuck everything.   

he calls zayn.  

“ello?” zayn answers.  

“hey.” louis grunts, pausing the tv.

“lou? what’s up? is everything okay?” zayn says, concern in his voice.

“well, lets see,” louis stands up, setting the wine bottle on the nightstand. “my best friend is at the prom with an asshole of a guy, i’m alone watching romantic dramas and chugging a bottle of wine. does everything seem okay to you?”

theres a pause. louis paces across the room.

“lou, have you ever-” zayn starts. “have you ever thought about...you know. the fact that you might have feelings for harry? like..more than a best mate?”

“what are you on about?” louis asks. except, louis knows exactly what he’s on about. he gets up from his bed and shuffles to the bathroom to try and distract himself.

“i’m not saying you’re like, in love with him. actually, no. i am. i just think you should think about it for a bit, thats all.”

“what do i have to think about, zayn?,” louis protests, putting his phone on speaker and setting it beside the sink as he proceeds to take his contacts out.  “he’s my best friend, not anything more. nothing. so don’t-”

“louis,” zayn sneers. “i know denial got you through the last three years but like, it’s so obvious. i have never met anyone who has gotten this jealous of their best friend’s date. it’s ridiculous. besides, you two are practically married. i would kill to have liam look at me the way you look at harry. it’s not normal, louis. look around you."

“i’m telling you, zayn,” louis huffs, slipping his eyeglasses over the bridge of his nose. “it’s completely platonic. i’m not even-i’m not gay. i don’t think so, at least.”  

“tell me one thing that would be different between how you are now, and how you would be if you were in a relationship.” zayn says, calmly. louis searches for an answer, but...oh.

and wow, there isn’t anything, is there?

it’s all been normal. the touches, the little kisses, the jealousy, the fond. it’s been natural for them. but god, it’s not normal, is it? louis hasn’t even thought about it, really, since it’s been such a basic part of their relationship. harry’s easily the most important person in his life, and he loves him more than he loves himself. it’s always been a friendly love, but had it really? fuck. fuck.

louis likes harry.

he sinks down the wall  and bites into his hand, trying to hold back the scream that was attempting to slide it’s way up his throat. he curses a stream under his breath. as his head spins, and he’s almost certain he’s going to be sick.

louis _loves_ harry.

in that moment, all the thoughts and feelings louis has been having for the past three years multiply by twenty. the dam between friendship and something more is broken, the waters are mixing. louis is overwhelmed, drowning in the newly formed sea. he’s angry, so angry. it's been three years - _three years_ \- and no one had seen it fit to inform him of this until just now, a month before he graduates.

louis’ _in love_ with harry.

he’s in love with harry, and he can’t imagine a time he hadn’t been.

the realization claws  its way up his throat, revengeful and unforgiving.  that’s the missing piece louis needs. the feelings have all been there, it wasn’t a foreign concept. it’s just frustrating that it took him this long to conclude. now, everything makes sense. terrible, horrifying, mind-boggling sense.

“....louis, mate? you there?”

oh. zayn. right.

“yeah,” louis snaps, a little harsher than intended. his mind races, but there’s only one thing his gut is telling him. “yeah i’m- can i call you later?"

without waiting for an answer, louis shoves his phone in the pocket of his jeans and bolts down the stairs. his conscience is screaming, but his gut is louder. he grabs his keys from the counter, making sure to snatch a white rose from the bouquet placed conveniently next to them. even though louis isn’t a hopeless romantic, harry is, and if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

he slips outside quietly, carefully shutting the door behind him. there’s a light drizzle outside, the streetlamps are dim, the only noise being the soft rustle of leaves being twisted by the wind. the air is unusually humid for a midnight in april. he slides into the drivers seat of his car, gently placing the white rose on the passenger seat next to him. his heart is beating a million miles a minute, his mind racing just as fast. he ignores the second thoughts; the thoughts telling him to turn back, telling him it’s not worth it. he just...drives.

the rain is absolutely pouring now, creating a thick sheet of water over louis’ windshield. the streetlights reflect off of the drops, casting silhouettes all over the black interior of the car.  the white rose seems more delicate than ever, the pale yellow of the lamps painting it gold.

it’s weird, really, how abruptly this happened. only a few spoken words caused this feeling of love and lust to wash over him, a supernova of feelings exploding in the pit of his chest. louis has so many questions, but he shoves them to a corner of his brain for now. he tries not to dwell on the fact that he has no idea what he’s going to do once he gets there, if harry’s even home. all he knows for certain is that he’s not turning around.

he turns the music up louder and focuses on driving, making sure he doesn’t miss the turn into harry’s neighborhood.

eventually the song ends and louis pulls up to harry’s driveway, jittery and palm-sweaty. the lights in harry’s house are on, and his mum’s car isn't in the driveway. louis takes that as a good sign. he scrubs a hand over his face, inhaling sharply. the rain was still coming down hard and louis realised that he has managed to forget to grab an umbrella.

but it doesn’t matter. he has to do this now.

he slips the rose into the inside of his jacket and practically falls out of the car, attempting to get to harry’s door as quick as humanly possible. nonetheless, he’s soaked as shit and his heart is beating harder than the rain.

the water pools in his shoes as he trudges up the steps, cursing when he realises that harry’s house doesn’t have an eave above the door. so, he rings the doorbell, and stands there, in the rain, looking like an idiot. his hair is all over his face, his dripping glasses blurring his vision,  his wet skinny jeans are sticking to his skin, and if harry doesn’t open the door soon, louis’ going to kick it open himself.

he rings the doorbell again and stands in the rain for another 30 seconds until he gets frustrated, foot tapping against the little puddles underneath him. the white rose is still tucked in his sweater, safe and dry (for now, at least). louis peeks in the sidelight, vision blurred, rain trickling in his eyes. he cannot believe he’s doing this. he blinks to get the water off his eyelashes and wipes his sleeve against the glass, attempting to get a clear view of the inside. it doesn’t help much, considering that his sleeve is soaked as well. from what he can see, it’s dark inside, except for a dim stream of light coming from harry’s room. louis rings the doorbell another time before leaning his head against the door, groaning. his eyes fall to the welcome mat he’s standing on, the white letters dirty with the mud from his shoes. he leans down and slips his fingers under the mat, fumbling around quickly. the white rose is beginning to slip from the inside of his jacket, so he hoists it up with one arm as his fingers stumble across the jagged edge of  what seems to be a key.

he stands up, twists the key in, and opens the door.

he steps into the house and exhales in relief, grateful to be out of the rain. his soaked vans squeak against the hardwood floor, and he could feel the ends of his toes wrinkling. he takes the white rose out of it’s place in the inside of his jacket, pinching it delicately by the stem and folding the petals back.

“harry?” he calls. the lights are off, except for the ones in harry’s bedroom. louis heads towards it, wiping his glasses off on the kitchen tablecloth as he passes.  he tiptoes up the stairs, probably leaving mud-stains on the carpet, but he doesn’t care at this point.

harry’s door is half closed, so louis pushes it open.

“haz, i need to talk-”

louis stops.

he should have knocked.

if he did, he wouldn’t have seen harry on top of nick, grinding down into his crotch, devouring his neck.

if he did, he wouldn’t be standing there like an idiot, soaking wet, glasses crooked, heart broken. a choked sound echoes in the back of his throat, twisting his insides and forming a knot.

“louis!” harry announces, scrambling off of nick. louis doesn’t move. “you’re soaking wet! let-let me get you a towel.”  harry rushes out of the room, ignoring the event that just took place. nick is sitting on the bed, glaring at louis with envying eyes.  there’s a purple hickey on his jaw, and louis feels a burning sensation behind his eyelids.

god, he’s such an idiot.

the white rose is still in his hand as he turns to sprint out the door, brushing past harry in the hall.

“lou!” harry calls, chasing after him, a towel slung on his shoulder. “lou, wait!”

louis doesn’t wait. he shuffles down the stairs quickly, rubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses. he refuses to cry. not here, not now.

“louis! can we-can we talk about this?” harry’s standing at the top of the stairs, and his voice is thick and full of something that louis can't quite place. he looks up at him, biting on his thumbnail worriedly. harry’s coming down the stairs now, and louis feels nothing more than heartbreak and self pity raging inside.

he tosses the white rose over his shoulder, opens the door and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

the rain is still pouring, and thunder rumbles in the distance as louis walks to his car. he doesn’t get in. he only leans against the door, hoping the rain washes away the pain of the events that just took place. louis leans his head back, shoving a hand into a soaked pocket. his head is aching, his stomach is churning, and his throat is shut tight with internal tears and words he has no right to say anymore. every fiber in his body itches for him to get in the car and drive, but he can’t bring himself to move.

the front door opens, and a stream of light travels  across the front lawn. louis knows who’s standing there before they even breathe a word.

“lou,” harry says after a moment, hesitant. “what’s wrong?”

louis looks up, heart wrenching in his chest. harry has an umbrella, the white rose slipped between his fingers, dry and full. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes filled with hurt and tears and worry. he makes his way down the front steps, the rain pattering the surface of the umbrella. the drops are in time with louis’ heartbeat.

just as harry steps closer, nick emerges at the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. louis can feel the knot in his throat swell. before he has time to think, he opens the door of his car, shoves in the key and drives, leaving emerald eyes and chocolate curls standing in the rain.  

//

 

**may**  

louis receives a lot of texts from harry within the next few weeks.

_lou can we talk??? i can come over_

_only if you want me to obviously_

_my mum’s making marmite chicken for dinner!!! thought of you_

_louis  please answer me you’re making me anxious_

_the fray is in london next month i got two tickets if you want to come_

_louis the concert is this week do you want to go?? please say yes i really want to go with you._

_tonight’s the concert are you sure you don't want to come??? i can pick you up if you don't have a ride. my mum’s gonna drive us_

_louis if you don't want to talk to me just say so so i don't look like a tit_

_please don’t leave me. please_

harry stops texting louis by the time june rolls around. he goes to the fray with nick, and louis finds out by his post on instagram. they’re both smiling outside the venue, a beer in each of their hands. nick’s head is tilted against harry’s, and louis feels sick. he unfollows.

and he knows he's being ridiculous and dramatic. but as the time goes on, it gets harder and harder to fix things. he's scared and sorry and stupidly in love and very, very sad.

//

**june**

louis graduates on the 9th of june. 

harry is there.

louis doesn’t say hi.

//

**july**

they don’t talk all summer.

jay approaches him about it on a rainy day in mid-july. louis is laying on the couch in the same sweats that he’s worn for three days, and his face is scruffy from lack of shaving. he’s been spending his summer on the couch, practically, watching shitty sitcoms on netflix. harry’s stopped texting him, and although louis had wished that he would stop when it was actually happening, he can’t help but long for the feeling of being wanted again.

“lou,” jay groans as she walks into the living room with phoebe propped on her hip. “you need to get out. do something. it’s summer!” she bursts, walking over and ruffling his hair. louis shoves his face into the pillow and wails. he’s perfectly happy with spending his days drooling over joey tribbiani.

“come on,” jay encourages, sitting down on the edge of the couch and patting louis’ leg. “go see harry! it’s been ages since you’ve seen each other, yeah? go see what he’s up to! invite him over for dinner or go see a movie, just go have fun-”

“mum.” louis snaps, lifting his head up from the pillow and flipping onto his back. there’s a crack on the ceiling he hadn’t noticed before. “i can’t.”

“why not?

“we-we aren’t really talking anymore.” louis huffs out. jay raises her eyebrows in surprise as she stands up to set phoebe into her crib. daisy is in there as well, sleeping peacefully. louis envies her.

“is there a specific reason?” she says, walking back over to sit next to louis. she sets a hand on his thigh, and it’s comforting in a way, but it makes his heart ache.

“i don’t know, i just-” louis says. he can feel his throat tighten up, because he really doesn’t know why. harry never did anything wrong. it’s all his fault and he was the one to push harry away and he has no right to miss him. a tear pricks the corner of his eye, and next thing he knows he’s sobbing into jay’s button down, and louis feels even worse because he knows it’s her favourite, and now it will be all salty and wet and she’ll have to take it to the cleaners because you can’t throw silk in the wash, and everything is his fault. it was his own fault that everyone he loved came to leave him, because he was the one shoving them away. everything is his fault, and louis hates himself.

he sits in jay’s arms for another three hours, sobbing all sorts of nonsense. he feels drunk, and he’s sure he let out a “i’m in love with him”  slip out at some point because jay kisses him on the forehead and whispers something about how you have to tell someone you love them or they may just slip through your fingertips. louis sobs harder.

//

**september**

the rest of the summer passes quickly, a blur of tears and angry fits, but it was alright. sitting on the couch for 12 hours a day watching friends was really kind of a win, in louis’ opinion.

he goes to uni in august. he’s planning to major in drama, and he’s starting to feel like he wants to go into teaching. his classes are nice. his professors are great. but there’s something missing, and he knows exactly what it is. he doesn’t pay any attention to it, though. it sits there, abandoned, and the wind just blows right through it.

louis spends most of his time at the library. zayn laughed at him the first time he mentioned it, but the library is nice. especially on fridays, when there's hardly anyone there. it's only louis, the dusty books, and the old librarian. he loves it.

things change after a bit, though.

a boy starts working in the library. curly hair, wide eyes.

louis is doing fairly well with coping. he keeps his head down and his eyes closed most of the time, listening to the fray on repeat.

towards the end of september, when the library is empty and quiet, someone sits next to him.

"hi," he says. "are you alright?"

louis makes a noise.

"oh. is that a yes?"

louis makes another noise, slightly louder.

"okay. anyway, i was just...i came over to see if you wanted to get coffee or something sometime? you seem lonely."

fuck.

louis lifts his head, trying to ignore the head of curls awaiting his response. he balls up his fists, stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder.

"no, i'm alright." he huffs, refusing to look at the boy. he's rushing out of the library before he can get an answer.

louis doesn't come back after that.

// **  
**

**october**

october is a blur.

zayn's pissed at him, he's failing six of his classes, and the water in his body has been replaced with a shit ton of alcohol. his mum stopped calling, he wears the white sweater harry bought him every day. it's starting to smell. clearly, it's not the best lifestyle, but louis' happy. kind of. 

he stumbles home one friday night at the end of october, after this incredible halloween party, and he’s as drunk as ever. he can barely see straight, and he’s positive he almost passed out on the bus ride home. all he really wants to do is sleep, he’ll regret his decisions in the morning.

he flings open the door, ready to strip off his clothes and cuddle up in sheets and sleep for the next twenty or so hours, but his plans are quickly crushed when he eyes zayn, sitting on the bed, hands in his lap, with a very serious look on his face.

“louis, we need to talk.” he says, standing up. he’s properly groomed and he’s still in his suit from his dinner date with liam earlier.

“can’t it wait until mo-morning?” louis hiccups. he’s proper pissed.

“not really. we cant keep putting off this conversation. it’s been four months, practically. i don’t know what you’re planning to do about this, but you need to get your shit together.” zayn spits. louis knows exactly what he’s talking about, and he really really doesn’t feel like discussing it right now.

“zaynnnnn, _pleeeeeaaaasssseee_.” he says, falling into zayn’s lap.

“no, louis. you can’t just drink your problems away all the time. i know you don’t want to think about him and you just want to forget about him, but come on. what you guys had was special. you’re not going to forget about him.” zayn gets up and shoves off louis, who looks up in disbelief. he opens his mouth to protest, eyes hooded and bloodshot, but zayn cuts him off.

he throws louis onto the bed across from his, shoves on his shoes, and leaves. probably to liam’s, louis guesses. it’s fine. it’s okay. louis doesn’t have to listen to him,  anyway. he’ll do it when he wants to do it. and that’s that.

//

**december**

christmas rolls around faster than louis thinks.

he stays on-campus over the break, because his mum and sisters are headed to new york city for the holidays. so, instead, he spends the first few days cramped up on the twin bed in his empty dorm, watching friends re-runs all day. it’s nice, but it’s lonely.

zayn’s gone home, presumably to introduce his family to liam. it’s for the best, probably. they aren’t on the best terms at the moment, after the whole incident. there’s probably like, two other people on campus, and he hasn’t spoken to anyone except for the janitors who knock on his door every day to make sure he’s doing alright. it’s nice. they’re nice. but they’re old, and not many of them speak english, so it’s pretty useless.

he turns 19 on the floor of his dorm, surrounded by empty boxes of frozen pizzas and cheap bottles of wine. it’s not the best birthday, but it’s alright.

by 9 pm, he’s a bit drunk and sad, there’s a pile of laundry sitting on zayn’s bed that he has no desire in doing, and he’s spilled wine on all of his cozy sweaters. except for one particular white sweater with an L sewn into the tag. it still smells.

there's a knock on the door.

"louis? you still alive?"

"yeh, barely." he shouts, even though the door is right next to him. it starts a pounding in his head.

"good. anyway, you have mail." one of the janitors (louis can't bother remembering his name) calls softly. "i'm gonna leave it  right here. happy christmas!"

louis muffles out a 'thanks, mate' and sticks his fingers under the door, tugging a pile of envelopes through the crack.

he sifts through them aimlessly. there's a few birthday cards, some christmas cards, a j-crew catalog, the normal trash. but, a small blue envelope at the bottom catches his eye, and he'd recognise that handwriting anywhere.

tossing the other mail aside, he sits up and rips the envelope open with shaky hands.

it's a letter, written scrawny on yellow notebook paper.

l _ou,_

_i really have no idea what i’m doing. we haven’t spoken in three months and you aren't answering calls from anyone, so i resorted to writing this letter. i don't know if you'll even read it, but i need to say some things._

there's a few lines of scribbled out words and marks louis can't make out, and then.

_i love you._

the words hit louis like a freight train. he reads them over and over again for a good minute, probably.

_i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you._

his eyes strain to move forward, but he does anyhow.

_i'm not a poet or anything, but i love you. not in that friend way either. like i'm in love with you.  i didn't think you ever loved me back because i thought i was being really obvious and that the reason you haven't kissed me yet is because you didn't want to, so i never said anything. and i thought dating nick would make the feeling go away, but it didn't. because your smile is still engraved in my eyelids and the only thing more impossible than not loving you is living without you. you're my best friend, louis, and i miss you terribly. you're the most beautiful person i've ever met and the only thing i want right now is to hear your voice and see your beautiful face and smell that cheap cologne you insisted on buying yourself for valentines day. give me a sign, louis. please. tell me you haven't forgotten about me._

_anyway, happy birthday. hope you're doing well. miss you. love you._

_with love,_

_hazza_

louis can't breathe.

his chest is pounding, the alcohol in his blood is shooting to his head, and his heart. oh, his heart.

he crumples up the letter, throws it in the trash bin, and falls to the floor.

// 

when louis wakes, it's quarter past eleven.  the moment he opens his eyes, a flood of dread washes over him.

he takes an asprin and paces the room for a good ten minutes.

okay, but he has to, now, doesn't he? he can’t just...leave it alone. harry loves him. that’s something.

fine. okay.

he grabs 3 bottles of water out of the fridge, chugs them all quickly, grabs his keys and flies out the door without a second thought. he’s still in his pajama pants, his toms have a hole at the tip, and he’s still slightly drunk, but this can’t wait.

the roads are empty. it’s christmas eve, and everything is silent. the london lights are dimmed, and he passes all the red lights without a worry. he flicks on the radio, only to hear the opening riff of “sweet disposition”.

he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t.

//

 

louis arrives at harry’s at half past two.

the lights are all off, but harry’s got a lamp on.

louis takes a handful of pebbles from the garden and throws one. it hits harry’s window with a loud tip. he waits.

nothing.

he throws another. nothing.

on the third try, harry peeks out through the curtains.

on the fourth, he opens the window.

he stretches his arm with a still expression and points over to the shed, where a ladder is resting, unused, against it.

louis brings it over and leans it against the red brick, carefully climbing up. his feet shake with every step, and the alcohol in his system throws off his correlation, so he ends up almost falling backwards when he nears the top. harry grabs his arms at the last moment and tugs them through the window, and louis topples onto the hardwood floor. he looks up, and harry is looking down at him with a wobbly, soft smile. he looks different. his eyes aren’t as green as they used to be, and his hair has grown past his ears and tied around a gold headscarf. he’s bundled up in a red knit sweater. louis has always thought he looked good in red.

he stands up, staring at the birthmark on harry's neck to avoid looking at his face.

"i got your letter." he says. harry hums. "do you-did you mean that?"

harry's silent for a moment. louis considers turning around, but harry brings a finger up to his chin and tilts his head up.

"louis. look at me." louis does. the green in harry's eyes stings. "i meant it. i really did. i meant it so much-"

"but," louis interrupts. he didn't mean to barge into harry's monologue, but oh, well. "why? why me? i-i treated you like shit, harry. i didn't talk to you for months, and i just- _why_?"

"because you’re beautiful,, lou. like, everywhere. this isn’t you. this isn’t the louis i’ve known for three years. he’s in there somewhere.” harry says, dragging his fingers across louis’ tee shirt.

louis is still for a moment, shivers running down his spine at harry’s touch.  harry doesn’t move, and louis can feel his eyes piercing into the top of his head.

“i’m sorry,” louis says. “i’m so sorry, harry. i shouldn’t have just left you like that. god, im sorry. i don’t know how you could ever forgive me.”

harry doesn’t move. louis hangs his head in shame, and a million thoughts of get out, louis, just leave, he doesn’t want you here is flying in his brain in a million different directions.

he doesn’t even realise that harry’s lips are on his.

it’s a shock, yes. but it feels oddly familiar. it feels like home.

louis  brings his hands around harry’s neck, kissing back with just as much lust and desire. it’s kind of all that he’s ever wanted. it’s inexplainable, a foreign concept that somehow seems all to familiar. louis lets his lips speak for him, parting his mouth and letting harry sweep his tongue through, just to try. he kisses back with everything he has, reaching up to tangle his fingers in harry’s curls. harry pecks the corner of his mouth before kissing along his jaw, his chin, his neck. he rests his face in the crook of louis’ collar, the tips of his eyelashes tickling his skin.

“i’m so fucking in love with you.” he whispers. “i’m so..so much. god, louis.”

“i’m in love with you too. if you hadn’t noticed.”

harry straightens out, shuffling his feet and bringing a flushed, pink face up to greet louis. “really?"

"yeah. always have been, i think. didn't realise it till prom." louis is bright red, hands shaking.

"why didn't you say anything?" harry says softly, eyebrows furrowed. 

"i was going to the night of when i came over. felt stupid when i saw grimshaw. what happened to him, anyway? i thought you liked him?" 

"i just was tired of pining, honestly. felt stupid and tried to get rid of my feelings for you. never went away really, i think he knew." harry laughs. 

louis surges forward, tackling him back onto the bed, tilting up his chin with one finger and capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

and for the first time in a long time, louis is complete.

 

 


End file.
